


In The Darkness

by The_Raconteur_24601



Category: Doctor Who, Supernatural, The Borrowers - All Media Types
Genre: Borrower OC, Borrower!Sam, Evil, GT, Gen, Language, Tiny!Sam, Violence, descriptions of death, giant tiny - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5873077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Raconteur_24601/pseuds/The_Raconteur_24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something evil is afoot in a small rural town in Midwestern America, and it's up to Sam and Dean to find out what. With the help of a small woman named Zepheera, they'll do their best to save the town and Zepheera's time-travelling alien friend from the greatest evil the Winchesters have ever faced.</p><p>This is a contest entry for nightmares06. It features characters from my Doctor Who/Borrowers crossover series 'Borrowed Time (and Space)' with a little tweak in Zepheera's size to put her to Sam's scale. This is not canon for BTAS and takes place sometime before Taken in Brothers Apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unearthly Woman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightmares06](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmares06/gifts).



It had not been a good year for Jeremy Sunder. Over the last few months alone his mother had been jumped and stabbed to death, he’d been fired from his job, kicked out of school and to the curb by his stepfather, his boyfriend broke up with him, and he blew all of his money on PopTarts and drugs, from which he was currently going through withdrawal. Now, on this chilly mid-October night, he was shaking from both the chill and from the ills of his longing.

Currently, his home was a bundle of blankets in a corner underneath an overpass. The other homeless people in town came and went, never staying there for more than a week before moving on; the place had little foot traffic and was far away from people to beg from or food to plead for. But that was what Jeremy liked about it. He could die in peace here.

How macabre to think that at 25 years old, he’d decided that his life was over.

He was nearly asleep when the whispers began, and he rolled over with a moan, closing his eyes tighter. They had been tormenting him for weeks now, keeping him from a full night’s rest. It was always the voices of people he knew, or even his own voice. His stepfather shouting, his boyfriend scolding; even his mother’s voice tormented him, saying the most horrible things that he knew she had never said and _would never say!_

And tonight they came again, like clockwork. Only this time, they were joined by a new voice. A deep, distant rumble that seemed to echo in Jeremy’s head.

**_Come to me…_ **

Jeremy’s eyes shot open, and he sat up and scanned the dimly lit area. “Who’s there?” he demanded. No one answered. Only the whispers. He had just begun to relax a hair when the voice called again.

**_Come to me now._ **

Cautious, Jeremy stood and slipped into the wool overcoat that doubled as his blanket. As the voice continued to beckon, he wandered unsteadily in the direction it seemed to come from. The voice got louder the farther he walked, drowning out the other whispers, and he only hoped this meant he was getting closer to the source.

He stopped abruptly in the middle of a field in an empty part of town and was drawn to look down. Crouching, Jeremy picked at the overgrown grass until he found it. A silver necklace with a blood-red diamond for a pendant. He lifted it up by the chain, dangling the gem in front of his eyes. He stared at it for a long time, feeling like somehow it was staring back.

Out of nowhere, dozens of notions filled his head. Horrific ideas and concepts that Jeremy would never have thought possible. And worst of all, some of them actually sounded appealing to him.

_N_ o, the sensible part of him protested. _This is wrong!_

Jeremy blinked hard and realized that he was now wearing the necklace, cradling the diamond close to his chest. The insanity of the situation hit him like a wall, along with what remained of his humanity.

“No!” he objected, yanking the chain over his head and rearing the fist that held the diamond back with the intention of casting it away.

But before he could, a white hot energy spread from the diamond throughout his entire body. Crying out in pain, Jeremy’s legs gave out from under him and he collapsed. He’d never known such agony; he felt like every single bone in his body was being shattered and set on fire, like his organs were being ripped to shreds by some nonexistent beast.

And in the dark of the night, Jeremy’s screams of pure anguish went unheard.

* * *

 

Dean groaned and let his head drop onto the page he’d been reading. This case made no goddamn sense.

A world-weary sigh was heaved somewhere near his forehead. “ _Dean,”_ urged his tiny brother. “We’ll get it. We just gotta keep at it, okay?”

The older Winchester grumbled but lifted his head and consulted their father’s journal once more. Research was usually the most boring part of any case, but this time it was downright frustrating.

The hunters had been drawn to this small rural town by local reports of surprise murders committed by usually mild-mannered people, folks having fits of rage out of the blue. It was like a wave of evil had swept over this random little place in the middle of nowhere. Seemingly ideal for the pair of hunters. All they had to do was find out what the cause was and how to kill it.

Easier said than done.

Dean had walked into the local library earlier that morning with his little brother safely in his pocket and set up on a table in the most obscure corner he could find. He sat with his back to the walls and stacked all the extra books he’d grabbed for the express purpose of forming a barrier to hide Sam. With Dean keeping a watchful eye for library patrons, they could research together with minimal worry about Sam being in the open.

It felt good for Sam to contribute for once. The most he needed help with was switching out books, but he could turn a page just fine on his own. It was much more comfortable than hanging out in the pocket while Dean did all the work. To be able to work completely independent from Dean… Not that he didn’t appreciate his brother, but he tended to lean toward being overprotective.

Still, even he had to admit that this case was getting pretty ridiculous. No lore they could find matched with the cases well enough to pinpoint a supernatural culprit, not even in John’s journal. And hours of fruitless research was taking a toll on the both of them.

“Excuse me?”

The soft voice made the brothers jump. Dean’s head snapped up to find a small-statured young woman peeking around a bookshelf. He raised an eyebrow at how odd she appeared, and how natural she made it look at the same time. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen, had short dark hair and wore a tan overcoat that seemed a couple sizes too large for her and covered most of her outfit except for the cuffs of her pants and simple boots. She also had on sunglasses _indoors_ , which would make anyone else look like a douchebag but somehow she made it work.

“Sorry to bother you, you’re clearly busy, but I seem to have gotten myself turned around.”

Dean chuckled despite himself, admittedly intrigued by her strong British accent. It was a little out of place for the rural Midwest. “Yeah, they really need to do a better job of putting up signs around here. What are you looking for?”

She approached, digging through the inside pocket of her coat. Without batting an eye, Dean shifted his hand on the table to cover Sam. He kept it arched to avoid smothering his brother. She wasn’t yet close enough to see behind the makeshift wall of books, but Dean took no chances when it came to protecting Sam.

The sudden motion and lack of space startled Sam, but he got over it as soon as he realized what was going on. When the woman spoke again, she was much closer than she had been.

“I’m a transfer student, you see, studying journalism,” she said, flashing a small, black leather wallet that held her student ID. At least, Dean assumed it had; she shoved it back in the pocket right away. “Thing is, I’m a little late in the semester and have a bit of catching up to do on current events. Could you tell me where I can find archived newspapers from the past few months?”

Nodding, Dean pointed in the direction she’d come from with his free hand. “You gotta take the stairs down to the lower level, go straight down the hall, and it’ll be the first door on the left. Should still be unlocked.”

Her gaze followed his finger and she sighed in immense relief. “Thanks. Sorry again for interrupting you, I just noticed those,” she gestured toward the large copies Dean had made earlier, “and there don’t appear to be any librarians around…”

“They’re kinda understaffed today.” As they had been for weeks, Dean knew. One of the librarians went crazy and attacked her coworkers in their homes, leaving them inches from death. She was spotted and chased by police before she could get all of them, and she jumped in front of a bus before she could get caught. The others were currently in intensive care, leaving only a handful to pick up the slack.

She adjusted her sunglasses, brushing aside a lock of hair that had fallen behind the lens. “Well, thank you again sir,” she said as she turned to leave.

“Name’s Dean,” he grinned charmingly.

Pausing at this unexpected introduction, she nodded in acknowledgement and smiled faintly. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Happy to help, sweetheart,” drawled the hunter. From under his uncomfortably warm living shelter, Sam rolled his eyes and jabbed his elbow into the nearest finger in protest of Dean’s incessant flirting. Dean blinked, but didn’t otherwise react.

Her brow lowered slightly and her mouth twitched, as though she were at a loss for how to respond. Finally, she set her lips into a firm line and left silently with tense shoulders.

Dean frowned as he watched her go. Though the girl had been friendly enough, something about her seemed…off. Distant. Almost otherworldly, though he couldn’t think why she would give him that impression. He just felt it; something was weird about her.

His thoughts were broken by the sensation of something small pushing up on his thumb, and he remembered his brother was under there. When he lifted his hand, he was greeted with a severe bitchface.

“What!” Dean shrugged.

Sam got to his feet, straightening his hair and rumpled jacket. “Something is seriously wrong with this town, Dean. If there was ever a time to _not_ flirt with every girl with a cute accent that comes along, it’d be now.”

Dean scoffed and shook his head. Who said anything about _every_ girl? _Touchy, touchy…_ Leaning back in his chair, Dean grabbed a fresh tome from the pile and opened it to a random page. “What would you have me do, short stuff, leave the damsel in distress?”

“Let’s just _focus_ , okay?” With a sigh, Sam walked to the right of his book to turn the page.

Dean watched his little brother as he resettled on the left page. He’d never seen Sam so determined on a case, not one that didn’t involve someone the Winchesters were close to. But Dean didn’t pry, sensing that Sam didn’t want to talk about it and, frankly, neither did Dean.

Research continued in silence.

* * *

 

The library’s closing time came, and Sam and Dean had nothing to show for it. More than a little discouraged, they returned to their motel room. Dean ordered pizza and the brothers quietly watched TV for a couple hours before diving into the internet and double-checking John’s journal until fatigue finally sank in and they turned in for the night.

Despite his exhaustion, Sam was still awake when 2:00 a.m. rolled around. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but something about this case rubbed him the wrong way. Even Dean, who unlike Sam had been doing this all his life, was stumped. The thought of some unknown _thing_ infecting this middle-of-nowhere town with its evil—it was simply unnerving to Sam.

And apparently, he thought bitterly as he ran his hands down his face, it bothered him enough to keep him awake. Even in his own, familiar bed, walled in by books on the bottom shelf of the nightstand, less than three feet away from his older brother. He should feel safe. But nothing about this town felt safe. Heaving an aggravated sigh, Sam rolled over and forced his mind to clear.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, rewarded for his valiant efforts, an unearthly sound tore through the air.

It wasn’t loud, but it was nearby and strange enough to snatch Sam back into the waking world, fully alert and straining to hear. The only way he could possibly compare it to was an ancient machine struggling for air. It wheezed laboriously, groaning gradually louder and ending on a low bass thrum that brought back the silence with finality.

Sam was bewildered. At first he wondered if someone in the room over had turned the TV on, but Sam was sure he’d never heard anything like that on TV or in reality. Struck with the thought that it might have to do with this town’s evil problem, Sam threw off his covers and slipped into his boots. He peeked around the corner of the entrance to his little room as he put on his jacket, to check on Dean. The older and much bigger hunter slumbered on. Sam allowed himself to relax a little; if anything evil were even _remotely_ close, Dean’s hunter instincts would have him up in a heartbeat.

Sam knew better than to let his guard down completely, and he had to admit he was insanely curious about that had caused such a peculiar noise. Double checking that his knife was where he left it in his jacket, he marched under Dean’s bed to the entrance to inside the walls he’d found earlier, and disappeared from sight.

He meandered slowly in the general direction he’d heard the noise. As determined as he was about this case, he wasn’t looking for a fight. There was no way Sam could take on this thing on his own. Not with a comparatively miniscule silver knife as his only protection. But if he could glimpse it, he could finally set them on the right path to defeating this thing.

Or it could turn out to _not_ be the thing they’re hunting, and lead to a totally awkward situation.

His train of thought was broken by a soft shuffling noise, and he froze to listen. A faint muttering ruled out mice or any dangerous rodents, and opened up the possibility of someone else living in the motel, someone Sam’s own size that he could talk to!

He followed the dark passage with brisk steps and in his excitement nearly trampled the small person as he rounded a sharp corner. The petite woman gasped sharply and backpedaled in distress.

“Sorry! Sorry,” Sam hissed, putting his hands up to show he meant no harm. “I didn’t see you there. Are you alright?”

Her startled breathing started to even out, and her defensive stance relaxed a little. She nodded, still eyeing him warily. As she straightened to her full height, Sam took in her appearance as best he could in the dim lighting. Her hair was cut into a short, messy bob, and her clothes were form-fitting. A single-strapped bag was slung over her shoulders and a long pin hung at her side. She was taller than he’d originally thought, somewhere in between the heights of his respective adopted parents; her eyes were just about level with his chest. He must have been thrown by her slim frame and crouched posture. But now she was composed, authoritative, waiting for Sam to make a move.

Sam pocketed his hands awkwardly, trying to seem less intimidating despite the way he loomed. After living and travelling for months with his gargantuan brother, he was unused to the feeling of being _taller_. “Um. I’m Sam. What’s your name?”

She squared her shoulders and looked him up and down, but answered quietly.

“Zepheera.”

Sam smiled. He’d never heard such a unique name. A compliment about it was on the tip of his tongue when he noticed a light beeping sound. He followed it to her hand, which held the most intricate little device he’d ever seen someone like him in possession of.

“Whoa! Did you build that?” he blurted.

Zepheera blinked and glanced at the device like she’d briefly forgotten about it. “Well…yes.”

Sam’s brow threatened to disappear past his hairline. He chuckled gleefully, impressed with her apparent ingenuity. “That’s so cool! What is it? What’s it do?”

“Oh! Er, well…” She took it in both hands and fiddled idly with the dials. “It’s a machine that…that beeps,” she mumbled feebly. “Not my best, honestly, still got a few kinks to work out, y’know…”

Sam’s excitedly curious smile slowly melted the more she spoke. “Wait…I know you,” he said flatly.

Zepheera stiffened again. “Pardon?”

He frowned. It was impossible, had to be, but there was no mistaking that accent. The one he’d bitterly labeled ‘cute’ earlier.

“You were in the library earlier.” Suspicion rising, he took a step toward her, unintentionally intimidating her with his height alone. “The journalism student.”

Sam had no idea how, but it was definitely _her_.

Zepheera’s eyes were wide now. In a panic, she ducked and pushed past Sam’s legs, clutching the device to her chest as she bolted in the direction Sam had come. This caught Sam by surprise, but not for long, and he gave chase.

There wasn’t much to this passage, and only one place for Zepheera to end up. She ran faster than Sam, but his legs were long enough for him to keep up easily.

“Wait!” he called to her when they were getting close to the room. “I just wanna talk!” This was for her benefit, but also for Dean’s; if he was right, all the commotion of the chase would have woken his brother.

Sure enough, he found Dean’s closed hands when he emerged from the dark, the bed pushed hastily aside to make room for his hulking form. Sam wordlessly jumped on, stabilizing himself on Dean’s wrist as he stood and carried their captive over to the table. Dean dropped her onto his closed laptop and clicked on the light. As he sat down in the nearby chair, Sam kept an eye on her. She hadn’t made a move to stand, still getting over from the vertigo, but all the motion and vibrations from Dean forced her to look up with wide, violet eyes.

Dean squinted at their tiny prisoner, eyes flashing in recognition.

“You!”

Zepheera paled.


	2. Deception, Destruction, and Dimension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a blog now! Blogs are cool!  
> http://borrowedtimeandspace.tumblr.com/

Being a borrower with the Doctor for a best friend, Zepheera was bound to find herself in situations like this. In fact, she _had_ on multiple occasions, and each time found a clever way to come out alive. Once, she had successfully impersonated a time agent, referred to the Doctor as an associate, and threatened arrest.

But this was different. If the open journal nearby was any indication, this human—Dean, she remembered—was a _hunter_. And one who was not at all happy about his sleep being interrupted. She was extremely vulnerable and strongly believed that one wrong move, one wrong _word_ could get her killed.

“Start talking,” Dean growled.

Zepheera bit back a shudder from the sheer coldness of his gaze. She looked to Sam, who stuck close to the hunter with his arms crossed and regarded Zepheera with confused yet cautious suspicion. Any sympathy he might have had for her plight was clearly overshadowed by his loyalty to the hunter, whatever that entailed. Swallowing thickly, she got to her feet and faced the most dangerous interrogation of her life.

“My name is Zepheera, and…I can explain.”

“Explain how you can be human-sized one minute and borrower-sized the next? Explain why you were sneaking around our room at zero dark thirty?” Dean demanded, patience clearly growing thin.

Zepheera flinched when he mentioned borrowers, but a glance back at Sam reminded her that she shouldn’t be so surprised. But as she thought of an answer, her hand unconsciously went to her upper right arm, where the sleeve of her thin jacket concealed a gold ring the size of an armband to her. This was the true reason she had appeared human mere hours ago.

The day she met the Doctor, they had encountered an evil alien overlord named Lady Khardenia. She had enslaved humans and was intent on destroying the Earth before Zepheera and the Time Lord had stopped her. The ring was all they had left of her. Khardenia had prized it, and for good reason. Among other things, it had the ability to alter the size of anything, living or inanimate, to be larger or smaller. It would also adjust its own size to fit the wearer, but it never became smaller than a bracelet to anyone Zepheera’s size. As a borrower, Zepheera was proud of her heritage and perfectly secure in her own size, and she disliked using the ring if she didn’t have to.

She couldn’t admit this to Sam and Dean, though. It was too valuable and too much at risk of confiscation if she revealed it.

“I wasn’t sneaking around!” she insisted. She cringed, knowing she shouldn’t raise her voice to her much larger captor. “T-the reason you saw me like that in the library is…I’m a size shifter,” she lied, lifting her hands defensively.

Dean and Sam shared a look. Sam was the one to speak up this time. “Zepheera…we’re hunters. We track down monsters for a living, and we’ve never heard of shape-shifters that can change size.”

Seeing the fault in her lie, Zepheera expanded on it. “No, no, you misunderstand. I’m not a supernatural creature, I’m just…not from your world.”

Dean frowned. “So you’re what, from another dimension?”

“More like another planet.”

A tense pause hung in the air, split by a sigh from Dean as he ran a hand down his face. “You’re telling me you’re a freaking alien?” he muttered, his voice thick with disbelief.

Zepheera nodded. “I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s true. And I’m not hurting anyone, I swear.”

“Then what _are_ you doing here?” asked Sam, slightly more open to the idea than Dean but still suspicious.

Her gaze lowered to the smaller man. After a deep breath she said, “Same as you. Tracking down a monster.”

Both hunters raised an eyebrow at her.

“You know what’s going on in this town.” Dean wasn’t asking.

Zepheera’s shoulders slumped. “Yes. The past few months…none of it should have happened, and I feel awful, but I _am_ trying to fix it—”

“What do you mean by that?” Sam interrupted.

“It’s…a really long story,” she sighed, looking at each of them in turn. “It might be best if I just…showed you? The vessel I came here in is parked out back, everything you need to know is in there. No tricks, I promise.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You’re gonna help us?”

“No. This is all my responsibility. _I’m_ the one who needs _your_ help.”

Zepheera watched in suspense as the hunters held an entire conversation using nothing but their eyes. After an eternity of a moment, Dean nodded. “Alright.”

Zepheera felt herself finally relax. With one word, she was no longer a prisoner.

“Where’s this flying saucer of yours?” Dean smirked.

“Well, it doesn’t look like that, but it’s not far. I’ll take you there.” She walked off the laptop toward the edge of the table.

“Whoa, whoa,” Dean’s hand blocked her way and she jumped slightly, stopping herself before she could collide with it. She looked up at him in confusion. “You about to go human-sized on us?”

She blinked. “Yes…Is there a problem?”

Dean pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Give Sam your weapon first. And whatever it is you’re holding there.”

“Oh!” Zepheera flushed. For the second time that night, she had forgotten about the little device she was still holding. And she hadn’t even thought about how intimidating her humble little pin would appear at a human’s scale. “Right, absolutely!” She walked calmly over to Sam, still afraid to make any sudden movements, and handed over her long hat pin.

“So…what _does_ this do?” Sam asked curiously under his breath as she passed him the device, now shut off.

Zepheera sighed, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter,” she whispered in reply, “It probably doesn’t even work.”

Dean placed his hand next to Sam, who climbed on and sat down in the middle of his palm. Sam fumbled with the pin, carefully angling the sharp end away from Dean’s flesh as he lifted Sam to his shoulder and stood aside to give Zepheera some space.

Grateful for the empty chair, Zepheera hopped down onto the seat, and then to the floor from there. Ignoring the sight of Dean’s boots in the corner of her eye, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the ring. The all-too-familiar sensation of flying overcame her, and when she opened her eyes she was perfectly scaled to the room around her.

She let out a long sigh and turned to the others, who reacted to her change in stature with a healthy amount of awe. At human-size, Zepheera stood at about five foot six, putting her eyes level with Dean’s shoulder. This gave her a perfect view of little Sam, the sight of whom almost made her wince. Out of the dozens of times she’d done this, she’d never done it around someone her own size. And seeing someone who had been much taller than her earlier—even taller than Dean was to her now—so _small_ …it was unsettling to say the least. Luckily, Sam seemed more amazed than wary of Zepheera’s drastic transformation, to her relief.

“R-right then.” She adjusted the single strap of her knapsack and nodded decisively. “Follow me.”

* * *

 Jeremy was sure he was dead. No one could survive that kind of pain. But as awareness slowly crept up on him where he lay, he noticed a ticklish prickle against his cheek, ear, and nose.

_Does the afterlife have grass?_

**Wake up.**

Jeremy started into a seated position, eyes wide. Breathing heavily, he looked around. He was still in the field and the sun was disappearing in the distance, painting the sky with pinks, purples, and indigos.

_How long have I been here? How am I even ALIVE??_

**How, indeed…**

An uncomfortable foreboding twisted in his gut as he looked down at his chest. Sure enough, he was still wearing the hellishly red diamond.

“God, fucking—” Why couldn’t this thing just leave Jeremy alone? He’d already fucked up his own life, and then this thing came along and started fucking around with what was left of it and Jeremy had had _fucking enough!_ He angrily grasped the silver chain with the intention of leaving it behind once and for all.

Before he could lift it more than a fraction of an inch off his neck, his insides collapsed. Jeremy screamed in agony as his organs dismantled and his bones crumbled, and the small chain fell into place as his fingers gave way to its slight weight. The second the diamond settled back down, it all went away. The pain left so quickly, Jeremy felt whiplashed. He doubled over with a miserable moan.

_Christ, I think I’m gonna be sick._

**Breathe. Pull yourself together.**

Jeremy forced himself to take deeper breaths, and the wave of nausea subsided. He slowly sat up and stared at his hands, flexing his fingers and clenching them into fists to test their strength. His skeleton was intact and his heart was fine, if beating a little fast.

_What the hell WAS that?_

**Well, let’s think. Without the necklace, your body is broken. With it, you’re whole.**

Jeremy frowned, taking a pause in this bizarre conversation with himself. _So…I can’t survive without this weird diamond._

**Sounds about right.**

_But isn’t the diamond what broke me in the first place?_

**Forget that. If it’s powerful enough to heal you that well, think about what else it can do.**

_…Like what? How do I know I can even DO anything with it?_

His internal voice went silent. Jeremy sighed and muttered, “Thanks for nothing…”

Lifting himself shakily to his feet, he found himself remembering his ex-boyfriend. Alex Martyn. They were high school sweethearts who somehow managed to carry their relationship into college. Without trying to, Jeremy thought about every little thing about Alex that ever irritated him. How when Jeremy complained about his stepdad making him attend community college, Alex would always side with Jeremy’s stepdad.

 _Well, he was probably just worried about my future,_ Jeremy reasoned.

How Alex always lectured him when he left the house late, practically begged him to stay in.

_He hated the drugs. Always did. Knew there was nowhere else I’d be going._

He never supported Jeremy, never trusted him. He was so damn jealous, controlling, and NAGGING. **“He just wants you to be more responsible, Jer, and frankly I don’t blame him.”** **“Please, just make a decision for once in your life!” “You’re not the same when you’re high! You’re barely you!” “If you can’t get your shit together, I’m done. _We’re_ done!”**

“Shut the FUCK UP!”

FWOOSH!

Jeremy flinched as a wave of heat slammed into him from behind and he whirled around. A nearby tree, long dead and barren, was engulfed in flame from top to bottom. He stared in shock.

 _How the hell…? Did I…?_ He suddenly noticed the tingle in his fingers that ran up his arms and down his spine. The more he focused on it, the more he recognized it: the _rush_. He never thought he’d feel it again, and now that it was back and left him feeling more powerful than ever, he was _jonesing_.

 **See what I mean?** the voice piped up.

_YEAH…_

**Good. Now what do you say we try that out on the real deal.**

A slow smirk tugged at Jeremy’s lips. He turned toward the road back into town.

“Okay.”

* * *

 “How’s a little wooden box any better than a flying saucer?”

Zepheera refrained from rolling her eyes at Dean, but only just. “For your information, this box is the key to saving this town, the whole bloody world. A little respect, please.” It wasn’t often that she got this defensive about the old ship, but since the Doctor wasn’t around to do it… She shook away that thought and stepped toward the box, pulling a key on a string from under her shirt.

“And I guess that’s the _key_ to the key?”

“Dean, don’t be a dick,” Sam scolded.

Deciding not to dignify that with a response, Zepheera unlocked the TARDIS with a white-knuckled grip. She hesitated after pushing the door in about an inch, smiling mischievously. _Oh_ , she was going to enjoy this.

“Y’know what,” she spun back around to face the hunter. “Before you go in, do me a favor: walk around my lovely little wooden box with your hand on the outside.”

Dean frowned. “The hell would that accomplish?”

“Saving time. I mean it, all the way around, spit spot.” With that, she disappeared inside.

Grumbling about how stupid it was, Dean complied, placing his hand on the worn wood and pacing around it.

“This thing’s _teeny_ ,” he remarked to his brother as he squeezed behind the box. It was about four feet squared by Dean’s estimation, and all but wedged against a storage shed in the back corner of a parking lot behind the motel. Even if Zepheera went borrower-sized again, it’d be a tight fit. “Alien or not, I’m starting to think she’s is a little whacko. This thing doesn’t even _look_ like a spaceship.”

“Regardless, we have to hear her out. Make sure she actually knows what’s going on,” Sam reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah…” By then Dean was back at the front doors and he burst in determinedly, opening the doors with a little more force than necessary.

Two steps in, Dean flinched at the sight of the inside of the box, a jarring action for Sam who quickly recovered. Dean’s head snapped toward the door in disbelief, and he had to stop himself from rushing back out to make sure he wasn’t tricked into entering a building thinking it was a box. But he had seen the outside—all of it—for himself, Zepheera had seen to that. So when he turned back to gape at the glorious machine, it was with an elated grin plastered to his face.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Dean enthused as he turned in circles. “ _This_ is how you do a friggin’ spaceship!”

Sam, for his part, stared in slack-jawed awe. “Ho-ly shit…” The room was cavernous to Dean, and for Sam it was even larger. He craned his neck to see every single detail. The dome-like walls were covered with round things that lit the room dimly, coral-like supports surrounded a center column that gave off an eerie green-blue glow, and at the base of the column sat the console. A mish-mash of _stuff_ , both familiar and alien, that Dean immediately gravitated toward. It was all so DIY—was that a bicycle pump just jammed in there?—it brought back flashbacks of putting together his first sawed-off from scratch or repairing old cars in Bobby’s yard.

“I’m glad you approve,” Zepheera’s voice echoed from somewhere in the room. Dean leaned around the console to find the woman standing with her hip against one of the six panels, one with a silver monitor. For some reason, a stethoscope hung from her neck. She smiled at them. “Welcome to the TARDIS, boys. I know it’s all a big shock, bigger on the inside, but you know why we’re here. So…come meet our monster.”

As she turned to face a screen and pressed a few buttons, Dean moved around the console to join her. He stopped dead in his tracks at an unexpected sight. Just behind Zepheera, a weathered, sickly yellow seat with stuffing sticking out in places and duct tape patching up others supported the unconscious form of a man. He looked human, this much he had in common with Zepheera. He was about Dean’s height, but skinnier, had brown hair and angular features; he wore a blue suit and faded red converse. He lay with his head cushioned by a small pillow, his feet planted on the floor since the seat was only as long as his upper body, and the trench coat Dean recognized that Zepheera had worn earlier was now draped over him like a blanket. Dean guessed it belonged to the man, which was why it had been so ill-fitting on Zepheera.

“Who’s that?” Sam asked cautiously. Zepheera hadn’t even _mentioned_ anyone else.

She followed their gaze and slowly straightened, hesitating only for a moment.

“That’s my friend,” she said solemnly, removing the stethoscope and placing it on the console without looking. Once she had her eyes on her friend, they were glued. Like she was afraid to look away. “He’s called the Doctor. Don’t worry, he’s not gonna wake up.”

“What happened to him?” Dean’s question managed to draw her attention back to him, violet eyes locking with his intense greens. _Explains the shades_ , he thought absently. Such an unnatural color would have definitely caught his attention, never mind his instincts as a hunter.

Zepheera pushed a few buttons on the panel and the screen lit up. “ _This_ is what happened to him.”

A dark image of a blood-red diamond maximized on the screen.

“It’s called the Wage Star,” she explained as Dean leaned in for a closer look. “Said to have been forged by the fathers of evil itself at the beginning of the universe. At least, that’s what the legends say. The Doctor told me it was a fairy tale on his planet, a scary campfire story.”

“So, cursed object?” Dean urged.

Zepheera shook her head. “No, that would be simple. This thing has a mind of its own. I dunno how it works, but it sort of…calls to people, seduces them, and slowly grants them power—“

“And in the darkness binds them.”

“Worse,” Zepheera insisted, ignoring Dean’s blatant reference. “It consumes them wholly, and it moves on. Waits for its next unwitting victim.”

“How the hell did this thing end up on Earth?” asked Sam as he carefully climbed down from Dean’s shoulder and onto the console, using his leaning arm as a bridge.

“That’s where the long story comes in. The Doctor and I are travelers, you see. This is actually _his_ spaceship. We zip harmlessly around the universe minding our own business, and somehow trouble always finds us. We were looking for someplace to relax, but instead we found a planet on fire. Some damn fool was using the Star to rule as a dictator. And well,” she glanced fondly at her unconscious friend, “we couldn’t have that.

“Even though he was surprised to learn that the Wage Star was behind it all, he came up with a plan to break the dictator’s hold on the planet, and a much more difficult but plausible plan to break the diamond’s hold on the man.”

“Whoa, whoa, you know how to beat this thing?” demanded Dean.

“Well…yes and no. _He_ had an idea,” she nodded toward the Doctor, “and as you can see, it’s not the easiest thing to carry out.”

Sam, from where he’d settled himself on a small ledge on the monitor, spoke up. “Alright, so what did you—or, _he_ have in mind?”

Zepheera blinked at him, still thrown by how small he looked against the familiar console and the thought that she looked even _smaller_ on a normal day. Banishing the stray thought, she answered his question.

“Basically, the Star can call to almost anyone in the universe. The only place it would be safe is right here.”

“How come?”

She shot Dean a look. “I did mention _bigger on the inside_ , right? This ship’s dimensions aren’t the same in here as they are out there. Insert techno-babble and sciencey mumbo-jumbo, but it’s essentially another dimension in here. If we got the Wage Star in here, it would be sealed off from the rest of the universe.”

“That’s great and all, but doesn’t that put you at risk? What’s to stop it from affecting you?” Sam countered.

Zepheera reached around the console in the direction opposite Sam and Dean, bringing out a large mason jar with machinery covering the top. “The Doctor thought of that, too. Simple maths: unbreakable glass plus a containment field attached to the lid equals neutralized Wage Star. He mentioned that expelling it into a star or supernova should finish it off just fine.

“First phase of the plan went swimmingly,” she continued. “We started an uprising and overthrew the dictator’s political power. He fled the planet after that, so we chased him down to two other planets before he got desperate. We confronted him on the last planet, and he unleashed a devastating attack on the Doctor with the power of the diamond. Then with the last of it, he banished it into space. He crumbled into dust within seconds, screaming all the while.”

She closed her eyes for a second, forcing down the memory of the Doctor so unresponsive to her voice, even as she screamed his name. She had to push through this. She was almost done.

“Obviously, the Doctor got knocked unconscious. I dragged him back into the TARDIS and took us to a remote corner of the galaxy. I waited, but he didn’t wake up. After a day or two, I decided to go after the Star and finish what we started. Tracked it down to a planet, and the general area on the face of the planet.” Zepheera remembered groaning audibly when an image of Earth was shown to her.

“Any idea where it might be hiding?” asked Dean.

“That’s just it. It’s _not_ hiding.” Fiddling with a keypad on the console, she pulled up an image showing a large red field encompassing the town and part of the town over. “If anything, it’s broadcasting. Putting out a signal large enough to trace but too broad to pin it down.”

“And that’s what’s making this town cuckoo for cocoa puffs with a side of murder.”

“Exactly. But it’s all so…normal. Aside from the outrageous amount, all those incidents from the past few months have been ordinary crimes. The Wage star wouldn’t be so petty.” Her hands clenched into angry fists as she glared at the screen. “It’s taunting me…” The Star had to know she was there looking for it. And it was toying with her.

A light pat of solidarity against her shoulder halted her train of thought. When she looked up, Dean’s sympathetic gaze filled her with relief. He _understood_. Dean saw that she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders—quite literally—and it was clear he knew the feeling.

“We’ll get this carbon sonofabitch,” he promised emphatically. Then, with a deep breath and heavy lids, he added, “In the morning.”

Zepheera ran a hand down her face and nodded. “Right. Of course, it’s late. We can discuss things further in…in the morning.” She watched as Dean offered a hand to Sam, who looked equally knackered, and started toward the TARDIS’s exit.

“If I could make a suggestion before you go?”

Dean’s head snapped around at Zepheera’s interjection, and despite the look that wanted nothing more than sleep, he waited patiently for what she had to say.

Zepheera wrung her hands. “Out there...nowhere in this town is safe, and you two are not immune to the Wage Star’s influence. I think it’d be best if you would bunk in here until we’ve neutralized it.”

“I think we can handle one more night, sweetheart,” Dean replied, continuing across the catwalk-like floor.

“Look, I need you!” she insisted. “Both of you. I don’t think our alliance is gonna go well if you’re trying to kill each other, or me.”

This made Dean freeze. From his spot in his palm, Sam could feel Dean go rigid. Dean knew better than anyone exactly how much of a threat he could be to Sam and people his size, but he always took great care to keep a steady hand and a gentle touch around the smaller folk. But if all that careful control were to disappear…replaced by unbridled bloodlust…

Dean sighed. “Fine. Just let me grab one thing, okay?”

“Of course,” said Zepheera softly.

Dean wasted no time, hurrying back around the motel and making a beeline for their room. He could check out and move all their gear in the morning, but he’d be damned if he left Sam without a bed wherever they ended up in that bizarre spaceship.

Once he retrieved it, he went straight back to the TARDIS where Zepheera escorted them through a long winding corridor. She showed them to a small bedroom a short distance from the console room, apologizing for the bunk bed. Dean assured her they’d be fine, and she left them to it.

He set up Sam’s bed on the side-table, and the smaller man climbed down his arm to it, fumbling slightly in his fatigue. Sam snuggled deep into his covers while Dean flopped down on the bottom bunk, burying his face into the pillow. Listening to the echoing groans of the settling spaceship made everything sink in for Sam: They’d just joined forces with a size-changing alien and her comatose friend whose ride was bigger on the inside, to help defeat a sentient evil rock.

“…Dean?”

“Yeah, S’mmy?” he mumbled, not bothering to lift his head.

“Our lives are weird.”

Dean grunted in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine the Wage Star has Robert Carlyle's voice.


	3. Sentiment

Zepheera had recently been plagued by nightmares so hellish they’d wake her up several times in the night. Sometimes she dreamt of the terrible things the Wage Star was making the townspeople do to each other; she had a childhood encounter with an alien to thank for psychic dreams such as these. But often, she dreamt about the Doctor…about waking up to find him not breathing. Dreams like this were much too similar to the other kind, and they either kept her awake or brought her sleep to a screeching halt.

But for the first time in days, the borrower woke up the next morning feeling well-rested. Ordinarily, she would be so groggy that she could barely function without a cup of tea. Last night’s events must have alleviated more stress than she thought, because as she sat up and stretched herself fully alert she couldn’t recall one time her sleep had been interrupted.

Zepheera combed her fingers through her tousled bob, and her gaze dropped down and over to find the Doctor. “Morning, old man,” she mumbled as usual.

Ever since the attack, she had slept borrower-sized on one of the two smaller back-rests on the seat where the Doctor lay, the cushion closest to his head, with only a pillow and a blanket from her own room for comfort. This way she’d know immediately if he came to. At night his steady, automatic breaths would lull her to sleep, each exhale would gently billow her hair and remind her, _he’s still alive_. And every morning, she would study his face for any trace of movement—there never was any—and wait for the reassuring gust of his breath.

She slipped on her boots and thin jacket after she was satisfied with her Time Lord’s state of health, by force of habit climbed down the ladder hanging off the back of the seat and once on the floor used the ring that she dared not take off to become human-sized. The transition was a little too fast for her liking, and it didn’t help that she’d forgotten to close her eyes. She moaned dizzily, gripping the foam-wrapped rail behind her for stability as the sensation subsided.

Maybe she needed tea after all.

Shuffling around the Doctor, she turned on the console monitor, flipping through the local channels until she found the morning news. She always checked, in case the Wage Star finally made a move or mistake, but at this point it was simply background noise to keep her alert as she fumbled for the electric kettle wedged under the console. Her fingers met the newspaper copies she’d made the day before. Remembering how frustrated and useless they’d made her feel, she irritably shoved them out of the way and roughly pulled out the kettle, setting it aside. There weren’t any outlets in the console room, but she could power the simple human electronic with the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver.

Zepheera stood and peered down at the console, but the sonic wasn’t where she usually left it. “Oh no, come _on._ Where are you?” she muttered, patting down the general area and reaching into the many crevices it could have fallen into. After a moment, she vaguely remembered slipping it into a pocket before she’d left for the library. The Doctor’s coat pocket. Kneeling next to him, she fished through the inside and outside pockets, somehow managing to not yank the coat off his body. She emerged victorious, allowing herself a triumphant “Ha!” when the voice on the monitor caught her attention.

_“A gruesome sight at the home of Alex Martyn, local college student brutally murdered in his own home. Police were on the scene early this morning and would not allow cameras inside the apartment building, but they say the victim’s body was nearly unrecognizable, and was only identified by the student’s dental records. They speculate this could be an act of terrorism.”_

“Boys!” Zepheera shouted as she dashed down the hall toward the room she’d put them in.

 

"How do you know it's the Star?" asked Dean, voice rough from sleep. Sam sat on his shoulder, looking just as disheveled as his brother and slightly more alert. But not by much. Zepheera had just shown them as much footage from the scene as she could find on the local news sites.

“The guy _spontaneously combusted_.” Zepheera emphasized. “Blew up, out of nowhere. No other damage to the apartment, so it couldn’t have been a bomb. And the poor kid was on the phone with his sister when it happened.”

“So we have a possible witness,” Sam chimed in.

Zepheera nodded. “Her name’s Alyssa. Alex’s fraternal twin, apparently. She’s the biggest lead we’ve got right now. And luckily we know exactly where she is.” Typing quickly on a keypad, she pulled up an enhanced clip of an amateur cameraman’s view of the scene outside apartment building: police cars and officers, paramedics and an ambulance. She paused the video and honed in on a decent shot of the open ambulance doors where a girl with bright red hair sat wrapped up in a neon orange shock blanket. With a deep breath, she turned to Dean. “Please tell me there’s a way you can talk to her, find out what she knows.”

“Zoom it back out.” She complied and Dean squinted at the screen, leaning down slightly. Sam adjusted himself as needed; the instinct to keep himself steady while on Dean was firmly ingrained into him by now. “Any feds show up yet?”

“No, not that I’ve seen. Impersonating an FBI agent, eh? Clever. You’ve got a fake badge and all?”

“One of the perks of the job,” said Dean with a smirk.

Sam shifted on Dean’s shoulder, moving closer to his collar in preparation for movement. “We need to get there as soon as possible, before she leaves.”

To his surprise, Dean didn’t move. For a long moment, he was completely silent and still.

“What’s wrong?”

Even if Sam wasn’t on his shoulder, Dean would have been actively avoiding his gaze. “Sam, I…” Dean sighed, carefully scooping up his brother and setting him on the sill of the monitor. “You should sit this one out.”

Sam didn’t have time to be pissed off about all the manhandling, He stared up at his brother, aghast. “The hell are you talking about?”

Dean’s jaw clenched and he cut his eyes at Zepheera who stood nearby, quietly watching them. Just as she realized she was unwanted in the conversation, she was struck by an idea and moved to the other side of the console, lifting a panel from the catwalk floor and dropping down in search of something. This left the Winchesters alone to chat.

“So what, I’m _benched_ now?” Sam griped.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not like that, Sammy.”

“Bullshit,” scoffed the smaller human.

“It’s not! I just can’t—” Dean threw his hands up aimlessly, heaving a deep breath. Nearly boring a hole in the console with his gaze, he tried again. “If I get jumped by some asshole out there, you could get seriously hurt.”

“Dean, when has that _ever_ happened?” Sam combed frustrated fingers through his hair. “I’m sure there’s always a chance that could happen, but it’s never stopped us before—!”

“Yeah well, this town’s different, Sam!” Dean hissed, trying to keep his voice from carrying in the acoustic dome of the room. He finally brought himself to look his brother in the eye. “In this town, those odds are tripled, maybe quadrupled! You heard Zepheera, anyone out there could be hopped up on whatever that diamond’s putting out, and if you got hurt…” The hunter squeezed his eyes shut at the thought he’d rather not have, then allowed his gaze to drop to the floor.

Words failed Sam. He wanted so badly to come back at his brother with something strong and fair, something that could convince Dean to let him come along, but nothing came to mind. Dean had a good point, a fact that only infuriated Sam further.

The silence between them was broken by Zepheera, who peeked around the console at the brooding men. “Sorry,” she piped up, “But I think I have something that’ll help.”

Without waiting for permission to share, she approached Dean and thrust a pair of glasses onto his face. Dean blinked in surprise. The square lenses were fake, but it was certainly the last thing Dean expected Zepheera to do.

“The hell are these supposed to—!” he started to demand when she reached up again to pinch the left leg of the glasses. A faint buzz sounded, and suddenly the image on the monitor changed to show Zepheera from Dean’s point of view as she grinned.

“They work! Fantastic! Dean-cam ready to roll!”

Dean turned to the monitor, which quickly became a tunnel of screens within screens now that the camera he wore was facing it. “Trippy,” he muttered.

A slight movement turned his focus on his brother, who wasn’t the least bit interested in the bizarre imagery. Sam reached a small hand toward the even smaller figure on the screen that mimicked the movement, and Dean belatedly realized that for the first time in a decade, Sam was seeing the world from a human’s perspective. Seeing himself the way Dean saw him every day. He couldn’t imagine what was going on in his brother’s pint-sized head.

“You’ll be our eyes and ears so we don’t miss out on any of the fun in here!” Zepheera chimed in, drawing their attention. “And that’s not all! Step outside.”

Sam flinched when movement seemed to surround him; Zepheera ushered his huge brother out of the TARDIS in front of him, and the screen behind the smaller Winchester depicted this action from Dean’s point of view behind him. Once the pair of giants were out of his line of sight, he whirled around to watch Dean’s progress. The wooden doors creaked shut behind Dean and Zepheera soon reappeared around the console, fiddling with a few switches underneath the monitor.

“That should do it,” she muttered after a few seconds. “Can you hear me, Dean?”

Dean visibly jumped at her voice and turned to stare at the police box doors with raised eyebrows.

“Loud and clear,” he answered once the shock wore off. He reasoned that there must be tiny speakers in the plastic frame right behind his ears, providing an aural connection to the ones watching through his eyes. “Sam, can you hear me?”

Sam hesitated and glanced up at Zepheera before replying, unsure if there was something technical he needed to do before he _could_ be heard. She simply nodded. “Loud and clear.”

“This is so weird,” mumbled Dean with an audible smirk.

“Alright, I’m about to mute our end,” said Zepheera, leaning slightly over the console in preparation. “We’ll still be able to hear you, so give us a signal if you need us. In the meantime, do what you need to do.”

They watched as Dean nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.

“Good luck,” Sam offered.

Dean turned away from the TARDIS and made his way back to the motel room.

Zepheera pressed one last button on the console and the little red dot appeared in the corner of the screen. That done, she slumped and gave a tired sigh.

“Oh, I need a cuppa…” She slid into a crouch, briefly falling from Sam’s line of sight.

Sam plopped himself down near the edge of the monitor sill with his elbows resting on his knees. Truthfully, he understood Dean’s reasoning for leaving him behind. But after months of building trust and comfort with his brother, a part of him couldn’t help feeling a little…betrayed. Which he knew wasn’t entirely fair, but even so.

After a second, Zepheera reemerged with an electric kettle and placed it on the console panel adjacent to the monitor. Sam watched with mild interest as she picked up a little grayish-silver thing with a blue bulb at the tip, about the length of a pen. Almost automatically, she pointed it at the kettle and pressed a button; the blue end lit up and made a weird buzzing noise, and the kettle reacted by powering on. Sam’s brow rose at the simple display of technology, especially as he noticed the power cord dangling over the edge of the console. Whoever these people were, Zepheera and this ‘Doctor’ were clearly advanced beyond anything on Earth.

As Zepheera reached to put the small tool back where it had been, her unnaturally violet eyes found Sam and she blinked quickly.

“Oh! Do you want anything, Sam? I’ve just got some Earl Grey in for now, but I could fetch you some coffee if you’d prefer.” She scratched at her knuckles absently as she spoke, hoping she hadn’t come off as rude. She didn’t forget Sam, but she wasn’t used to having someone, well… _conscious_ around.

Sam couldn’t decide if he felt flustered by her concern or pleasantly surprised by the offer. “Um. Tea’s fine, thanks,” he shrugged.

Zepheera nodded. “Right. Well, let me know if there’s anything you need.” That said, she meandered around the console.

A bemused smile played across Sam’s lips as she disappeared from his sight again. Zepheera may be a freaking _alien_ , but she was polite and kind and, if the comatose man on the nearby bench was any indication, loyal and brave. Most importantly, she knew what the hell they were all up against, which was more than could be said for Sam and his brother.

Sam turned toward the screen to check on his Dean’s progress. He was back in the motel and seemed to have just started a cup of coffee in the complementary machine. He fished out his federal agent suit and had just begun to undress when he hesitated. Seemingly remembering he had an audience, Dean removed the camera-glasses and placed them on the nightstand facing the wall.

 _“You mind?”_ Dean muttered, mostly to himself. Sam scoffed and shook his head.

With nothing left to look at on the monitor, Sam’s attention was easily drawn back behind him by a small clatter against the floor. Zepheera was kneeling next to the Doctor with a stethoscope in her ears. Gently pulling the coat back from his chest, she placed the listening end of the tool on the left side of his chest.

“How long has he been like this?” Sam piped up after a moment.

Zepheera’s eyes briefly flickered over to Sam. “Four days,” she answered quietly. “Well, today’ll be the fourth.”

She slid the bell of the stethoscope to the Doctor’s right side and listened.

“He has two hearts?” Sam surmised, shifting to the very edge of the monitor sill to get a better look. Now his curiosity was truly piqued.

“Indeed he does,” said Zepheera, a small smile ghosting on her lips. _Two working hearts_ , she thought with relief, removing the earpieces of the stethoscope.

Sam watched as she stood and set the stethoscope aside on the console. “What about you?” he asked almost warily.

Her smile widened a little. “Just one,” she assured. “On the left, just like you.”

Before Sam could ask one of the many questions that just popped into his head, the kettle gave an agitated gurgle and Zepheera busied herself with preparing tea.

Back on the screen, Dean was loading up the Impala, sipping coffee out of a paper cup. He chugged down the last of it as he slid into the driver’s seat, crumpling the cup and tossing it onto the bench seat as he pulled smoothly out of the parking lot. Sam found himself watching Dean’s view of the road. He could pretend he was out there with his brother, lounging on Dean’s shoulder like it was a normal day.

“Do you take sugar?” called Zepheera after a moment or two. Sam turned to answer her, but no one was there. Movement caught his eye, and his gaze dropped to a spot on the console below him. A teacup rested among the controls, and Zepheera, once again three and a half inches tall, stood near one of the dividers between the panels.

It took Sam a moment to get over how weird it was to see someone who had been a giant relative to him not too long ago suddenly at his scale. When he did, he noticed the cups sculpted out of aluminum foil she held crooked in one arm and the small jar—possibly an old necklace pendant—of sugar at her feet. Finally her question registered and he answered, “No, uh, I’ll take it black. Thanks, though.”

Sam watched with wonderment as Zepheera filled the little aluminum cups with the now darkened water in the teacup, adding a pinch of sugar to one, then made her way across the slight upward slope of the console and climbed up to join Sam on the monitor sill. All without spilling one drop of tea.

“Here you are.” She stepped lightly to Sam, passing him a cup. Sam took it with an appreciative nod, sipping slowly as Zepheera settled down nearby. She sat cross-legged near the edge, perpendicular to the screen so she could easily switch focus between the screen and her now much larger friend on the bench. Then, setting her cup down in front of her, she reached over to retrieve a long #2 pencil from where it lay on top of a post-it note filled with scribbled Gallifreyan. The Doctor often used it to write reminders for himself, and now Zepheera set it up to give them easy access to the keypads below without having to climb down.

“Y’know,” said Sam, “you don’t have to stay this size just to make me comfortable.”

Zepheera shrugged, leaning the pencil against the sill an equal distance between her and Sam. “I don’t mind. This is my normal size,” she replied, sipping her tea.

Sam’s brow shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah. Honestly, it gets a little uncomfortable sometimes, being human-sized. I prefer things the way I grew up seeing them. But…with the Doctor how he is, I just can’t do everything as… _efficiently_ as I’d like when I’m normal.”

Her statements prompted a dozen new questions to pop into Sam’s head, but as Zepheera glanced almost longingly at the Doctor, he knew exactly which he was most curious about.

“How’d you end up traveling with him?”

“Question is, how did someone like you end up with a hunter?” Zepheera evaded smoothly. “I lived on Earth for a little while, and from what I’ve gathered about people our size they don’t take very kindly to humans, let alone ones that go after things that don’t appear human.”

Though he was surprised to learn how much Zepheera knew about his people, he answered his question directly.

“Well, Dean and I are brothers.” He paused to let that sink in. “When I was ten, our dad left us alone to hunt a witch. She attacked us and put a curse on me. I shrank. Dad came back before she could do the same to Dean, but they didn’t know what happened to me and…left. Assumed I was dead, or as good as dead. But I was rescued by a nice couple who raised me as their own, taught me how to survive at this size. I probably _would_ be dead by now if it wasn’t for them.”

_And now they’re both dead because of me._

Sam took a long pull from his drink, downing nearly all of it in one go to cover up the sudden burst of emotion. “Then a few months ago, Dean found me again. Hell of a coincidence, but there was no doubt in my mind it was him. So, now we hunt together.”

As Sam spoke, Zepheera’s left hand drifted up to clutch at the ring she wore as an armband, still hidden underneath her thin jacket. She recalled the first time she’d had to use it to appear human. The sudden change in perspective was so jarring, she’d almost been sick. She couldn’t imagine experiencing the reverse of that at ten years old, with nobody familiar around you. At least she’d had the Doctor nearby to keep her steady at the time.

But with the ring, she could do more than alter her own size. She could use it to right a terrible wrong done to these brothers.

“Do…” She hesitated, suddenly unsure if it was even in her right to ask. “Do you ever miss it? Being human, I mean.”

Sam didn’t answer for a long moment.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he said at length. “When I first met back up with Dean, he tried looking for a cure for the curse. I kinda went along with it, but after a while it became pretty clear the curse is unbreakable. But honestly…even if it could happen, I dunno what I’d do if I was human. I mean, how could I talk to people I used to be afraid of?”

Zepheera let her hand drop to her lap at this new revelation. At best, the idea of returning to his intended human size was a conflicting one in Sam’s mind. That automatically waived Zepheera’s responsibility over the matter; if it wasn’t a definite yes, then she considered it a no.

“Well…you’re talking to me,” she pointed out. She had been a giant to him, too, not so long ago. Yet he seemed relatively relaxed, and clearly felt free to share.

Sam gave a soft laugh and smiled a little. “Yeah, but you’re different.”

Forgetting herself, Zepheera replied, “I’m really not.”

 _“I’m in,”_ Dean informed them in a hushed tone as he parked and exited the Impala, pulling Sam and Zepheera’s attention immediately. He’d arrived at the crime scene. Almost everyone had left, it seemed, safe for a pair of local police officers and their squad car.

 _“Morning officers,”_ he greeted, flashing them his badge. _“Agent Sambora. I’m looking for Alyssa Martyn, investigating her brother’s death.”_

Zepheera bit back a scoff. “Your last name is Sambora?” she asked Sam incredulously. Despite the seriousness of the situation, something about that fact tickled her.

“No, no,” Sam chuckled. “It’s Winchester. Dean just uses classic rock names for his fake IDs and badges.”

“Hmm. Sam and Dean Winchester,” Zepheera mused, leaning back on her hands as she watched the screen. “No offense, but that sounds like the world’s most messed-up fairy tale.”

“Sure as hell seems like it,” Sam agreed.

The officers informed Dean that Alyssa had returned to her hotel room and gave him directions. Dean asked if he could see the crime scene, but most of the remains had already been cleared away so the hunter thanked them and left. Sam and Zepheera were quiet as they watched Dean make the short drive to the hotel, flash his badge at security, and ride the elevator to the correct floor. He knocked, and after a moment the young redheaded girl opened the door. She had red circles around her wary eyes, and her clothes looked quite rumpled, like she’d done little else all day than curl up in bed and cry.

Dean introduced himself as Agent Richard Sambora and gave the same pitch he gave to the officers, but with slightly more pity. Clearly this girl was more than broken up about the loss of her brother. She invited him in and led him into the common area of the hotel room, taking a seat for herself on the couch and clutching a pillow to her stomach. Dean pulled up a chair to face her across the coffee table.

 _“We were just talking,”_ Alyssa began with gentle prompting from Dean. _“I was telling him about these awful shoes I just bought that hurt my feet, and he was complaining about his stupid math midterm—”_  She choked back a sob, cutting herself off.

Dean reached forward to tug a tissue free from the box on the table between them, passing it to her. She thanked him weakly and blew her nose.

_“I’m sorry for your loss. I won’t keep bothering you for long, I promise. But I just need to know one thing: what did you hear from the attack?”_

_“Um…I dunno, there was a bang? I think Alex’s mic got covered at some point, ‘cause he was definitely talking still but I couldn’t understand what he was saying.”_

_“Did you hear any other voices?”_ Dean pressed.

Alyssa gave a world-weary sigh, tossing a hand up in a throwaway gesture. _“It was hard to tell, everything got all garbled until…the screams.”_ She clutched the pillow closer to her chest with a sniffle.

 Dean paused, considering his next question. _“Did Alex have any enemies, Alyssa?”_

Her head snapped up to shoot a strange look at Dean. _“N-no, I don’t think so. Alex was a good guy.”_

 _“So he didn’t have an arch-nemesis, all comic-book style, but there has to be_ someone _who had a bone to pick with him, some petty grudge. A friend he had a falling-out with, an ex…”_

Alyssa bit her lip in consideration. _“I mean…he broke up with his boyfriend a couple weeks ago, but…Jeremy wouldn’t…He couldn’t…”_

 _“That’s my job to find out,”_ Dean stated. _“What’s this ex-boyfriend’s name again?”_

_“J-Jeremy Sunder.”_

Dean thanked her for the information and her hospitality, and promptly left.

 _“Sound about right, Zepheera?”_ he asked once he was alone in the elevator.

Zepheera jumped up to push down on the propped-up pencil, unmuting the TARDIS’s end of their feed.

“Could be,” she replied. “Revenge plus power, always a dangerous combination.”

 _“Tell me about it,”_ muttered Dean. “ _So we’re looking into this guy?”_

“It’s a start,” said Sam.

“We can do that together once you get back to the TARDIS.”

“ _Yes, ma’am.”_ The elevator dinged and he made his way casually back to his car.

Zepheera was preparing to mute their end once more when she noticed something in the corner of Dean’s eye. She did a double-take, and Sam shouted, “Dean, behind you!”

Dean jumped at the sudden noise, then froze at the sight of a dark figure in the backseat reflected in the rearview. His face was hidden by a hood, only his malicious smirk was visible.

 **“You should learn to mind your own business, dearie,”** he said in two voices, one young and taunting and the other soft and the other low and growling.

“Get out of there!” Sam cried. At the same time, Zepheera yelled, “Dean, run!”

Dean shot out of the car, dashing down the sidewalk as fast as possible in that suit. A glance behind him showed the figure walking calmly after him in the distance. Another seconds later revealed his pursuer to be less than twenty feet behind him. Dean ducked quickly into an alleyway without breaking stride.

Zepheera slid down from the monitor sill and clambered down the console, leaping over the edge. When she landed, she was human-sized and rather woozy, but she took the teacup she’d left sitting and downed it in one gulp, replacing it with vigor.

“Dean, try to make it to the alley on Pine Way!” she instructed, beginning to manipulate the controls. “Don’t move once you’re there!”

“This guy’s right on my ass!” Dean shot back.

“You’ve got to trust me, Dean! The alley on Pine! Two lefts and a right!”

Dean suppressed a groan but followed her directions. As he rounded the first left, he skidded to avoid collision with the same dark figure somehow in front of him. Dean’s knife was out in an instant, and he swung at the figure, which dissipated into a cloud of dark smoke, evil laughter echoing in the hunter’s ear.

 _It’s toying with me!_ Dean thought angrily as he continued running down the block to the second left. Just before he turned, he felt something tug at his left foot, sending him flailing into a parked car. He groaned at the pain in his side, but persevered.

Meanwhile, Sam was freaking out on multiple levels. His brother was being attacked halfway across town and there was nothing he could do to help him, and Zepheera was circling the console seemingly at random, flicking switches and turning dials.

“Hang on tight, Sam,” she warned.

“Sam?!” Dean practically demanded at the mention of his little brother’s name.

Sam did as he was told, grabbing onto a long bit of machinery firmly set on the monitor.

“In the words of a friend,” said Zepheera, throwing one final lever, “ _allons-y!_ ”

The TARDIS gave a rumble and the mechanisms inside the center column moved up and down with every wheezing groan the old machine gave. Sam’s grip tightened even further as he watched Zepheera continue to work the controls, seemingly giving it her all, whatever she was doing.

 _I can do this_ , Zepheera repeated in her head, even as the tremors around them grew worse. _I’ve SO got this!_ She had a remedial understanding of how to pilot the TARDIS, and had never tried to fly it so quickly. Even with the short distance, she was used to having more time, to easing her way through the Vortex rather than speeding like she was now. It soon became clear to her that her hold on control of the TARDIS was slipping.

_I can’t do this! I DON’T GOT THIS!_

Suddenly her gaze found Sam, clutching a small bit of machinery, eyes glued to the screen as it showed Dean’s progress. As she held down three controls at once, two with her hands and one with a foot, she made the toughest split-second decision she’d had to make in a long time. Removing one hand from a control, she pointed at Sam in attempt to make him human-sized so he could help her pilot the TARDIS and save Dean.

Nothing happened.

She had just enough time to frown in confusion when the TARDIS shook violently, tossing her to the floor. She jumped up to check on Sam and continue flying; Sam had managed to hand on, pressing himself tightly against his hold.

Back in the town, Dean had a visual on the alley Zepheera had indicated. He was almost there when the figure appeared in front of him again, this time grabbing Dean’s face straightaway. His knife fell out of his hand, clattering against the pavement.

 **“That’s her, isn’t it?”** the figure smirked, tapping at the fake lenses Dean wore. **“The little woman. Still upset that I hurt her Time Lord, is she? So very sentimental, bless her heart.”** He gave a dark chuckle. **“How it’ll hurt when I tear out the throat of her new hunter friend.”**

Unable to do anything else, Dean reached up and threw back the figure’s hood. An ear-splitting shriek rang out and Dean found himself released. He picked up his knife and looked into the face of his recoiled attacker.

He hesitated for the briefest half-second at the sight. He was young, maybe even Dean’s age, but his skin was a sickly pale gray and his eyes were reddened as though he hadn’t slept in a week. And yet there was pure evil in those tired eyes, and his lips were pulled back into a snarl.

That half-second was just enough time to create an opening for the figure, who lashed out at Dean in retaliation. A dark energy shot straight for Dean’s heart, but he jumped out of the way with reflexes only a hunter could have. And even these weren’t enough,

The blast grazed Dean’s shoulder and he grunted in pain, stumbling in his tuck and roll into the alley. Fiery pain numbed his entire left arm, but he ignored it. Wielding his knife with his good hand, he backed as far as he could into the alley and stood his ground with his back against a brick wall.

The figure approached him slowly, hood replaced. He knew he’d won, and he relished in his victory. Dean’s hand was shaking; the fire in his arm was slowly turning to ice from the shoulder down.

Suddenly the wind picked up and the sound of an asthmatic lawn mower starting up filled the air. The figure stopped and growled in frustration as a little blue box gradually appeared around Dean.

Once the TARDIS fully materialized around Dean and he was back in the console room, his legs gave out from under him. His head was caught by a very sweaty Zepheera, and Sam’s distant voice calling his name helped Dean cling to consciousness.

“Is he okay? Can you fix him?” Sam demanded as he hurried around the console just to have the two in his sight.

“He got hit with the Star’s dark energy. It won’t be easy, but I’ll do the best I can,” Zepheera promised Sam. Then to Dean, she insisted, “It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you patched up.” She lay Dean down on the floor to rush and grab the Doctor’s sonic and fetch a first-aid kit from a compartment in the floor. On the way, she glanced at the monitor. The figure, and by extension the Wage Star, was gone.

Trying to think of anything but his brother dying in front of him, Sam noticed a faint beeping at the edge of his hearing. He dug into his bag to find the little device Zepheera had given him the night before. It must’ve turned itself on somehow in all the confusion, and now it was beeping like crazy.

“Zepheera!” he called, beginning to worry about the excitable little machine. “Your gadget’s going nuts!”

“Wait, what?” Zepheera popped back around with a little white box, leaning in to see what Sam was talking about.

“Sammy…” Dean keened weakly, finding his eyelids growing heavier as the seconds passed.

The last thing he made sense of before everything went black was Zepheera’s perplexed voice saying, “It…works?”


	4. Binds Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this seems rushed and unfocused  
> uwu  
> @w@  
> there's a reason for that

Awareness crept up on Dean slowly at first. Then he remembered Sammy’s voice, so high-strung and worried, and every instinct in him screamed, _protect Sammy_. He sat up quickly, grabbing a hand that pressed against his chest to stop him. His green eyes locked with somewhat familiar violets, and it all came back to him. Zepheera. The TARDIS. The Wage Star,

That kid.

“How long was I out?” he rasped, voice rough from his bout of unconsciousness. His eyes darted around to take in the console room. He’d hardly been moved.

“Not long. An hour at least,” Zepheera answered. “Try to take it easy. You’ve just recovered from a dark injury.”

Dean sat up carefully. Zepheera didn’t stop him.

“Where’s Sam?”

“By the monitor.”

Dean craned his neck; he couldn’t even see the monitor from there. He made a move to get up, but Zepheera stopped him again.

“We need to talk,” she insisted. “A lot’s come to light while you were out, some of which concerns Sam, but I’ve already talked to him about it.”

Dean frowned at her but nodded. “Alright, shoot.”

Zepheera took a deep preparatory breath. “Bad news first. Sam has a dark energy inside him. Not the same as the blast you got hit with,” she added when Dean started to get agitated again. “But it’s there. We found out the machine I was using earlier actually works. I was trying to track down the Wage Star’s energy. Instead, I found Sam.”

“So, what does that all mean? Is Sam gonna be okay?” It took all of Dean’s effort not to freak out.

Zepheera nodded. “If he’s made it this far without it affecting him, he should be fine. But I think it could mean that Sam could possibly be immune to the Wage Star’s influence.”

Dean’s frown deepened. “You’re sure?”

“Well…no. It’s a theory, but the energies are so similar that I can’t see why he wouldn’t be. But this means that he could be our key to defeating this thing.

“No.” Dean struggled to his feet, and again Zepheera didn’t prevent him. He swallowed down the woozy feeling that overcame him. “No fucking way are you using my brother as bait for this psycho!”

“He won’t be bait.” said Zepheera calmly as she stood, maintaining eye contact with Dean. “More like a failsafe, in case things go sour. A last-resort safety net.”

Dean scowled down at Zepheera, skeptical but listening.

“I have a plan,” Zepheera promised, “and you’re gonna help me.”

They stared each other down for a good long moment before Dean finally conceded. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, first things first, we need to know where the Star’s gonna strike next.”

“Over here, guys!” Sam piped up. Dean immediately gravitated toward his brother’s voice, and Zepheera circled the other way around. Sam was settled on the sill of the monitor, using a pencil to jab at the various keypads on the console to research.

“That’s the kid that attacked me!” Dean pointed at the picture on the screen, taken from an old yearbook.

Sam nodded. “Jeremy Sunder. We’ve been digging up loads of info on him, figuring out who he might want to go after next.”

“The Wage Star’s got him on this huge power trip right now,” Zepheera explained. “It’ll keep indulging him until it’s got him under its control for good.”

“So I think I’ve got the next target pinpointed. Jeremy’s stepfather.” Sam clicked a button on the console with the eraser end of a pencil, and a series of emails popped up. “It looks like Jeremy got kicked out of school and lost his job ‘cause he was a junkie. Dear old stepdad kicked him out, too. Guess it was supposed to teach him a lesson.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out,” Dean quipped.

“Jeremy’s gotta be pissed at him,” Sam reasoned. “The job and the school got rid of him mostly on principal. His stepfather actively _chose_ to kick him out. And get this: tomorrow is the two-month anniversary of Jeremy’s mother’s death.”

“Sounds like the next target to me,” said Zepheera confidently.

“So what do we do now,” asked Dean.

Zepheera looked at the both of them. “Now you both do as I say, and we wait.

 

Dusk fell on the simple suburban house. The last light of day caught the row of beer bottles sitting in the west window of the living room. Archie Reynolds sat slumped in a recliner with three more beer bottles surrounding him. A fourth was clutched in his hand, and in his other he loosely held a picture of a beautiful woman in her wedding dress. He’d snapped it sneakily just before their wedding ceremony had begun, and framed it despite his new wife’s protests. She’d insisted the picture would bring them bad luck.

Maybe she was right, he thought miserably as he took another glug from his bottle. Now Meredith was dead, Jeremy was gone, and Archie was stuck in this house to drink himself to death.

**“Evening, old man.”**

Archie jumped to his feet in surprise. He didn’t recognize the voice—or was it two voices? He thought he recognized one of them. But that might just be the alcohol talking.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, his words slurring more than a little.

 **“Why, don’t you recognize me?”** Archie spun around clumsily to find a dark hooded figure standing behind him. It threw off its hood, revealing an all-too-familiar face. **“… _Dad._ ”**

Jeremy grabbed Archie’s throat and lifted him high into the air. Distressed gurgles escaped Archie as he struggled for air. Jeremy took in a deep breath and refrained from crushing Archie’s windpipe, settling for using the Wage Star’s strength to throw the man out the window. He landed in a heap in the grass, trembling in fear and pain. Jeremy slowly walked out the front door to start the slow torture properly.

“OI!”

The shout caught Jeremy’s attention, and he smirked darkly. Zepheera stood alone on the narrow walkway up to the house, with the sleek black 1967 Chevy Impala parked up to the curb. She wore a brown pinstriped jacket that was a little long in the sleeves and body, as well as a look of grim determination.

 **“So she finally shows herself,”** said Jeremy, clasping his hands behind his back. **“I haven’t even seen your face since…Oh, who can remember planet’s names anymore.**

 **“I must say, that jacket is rather ill-fitting on you,”** he commented condescendingly. **“Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say…don’t tell me that’s the Doctor’s!** **I do hope he hasn’t died on me. I would _so_ love to play with him for at least _one_ lifetime. The last of the Time Lords.” ** He gave a humorless chuckle, stepping steadily toward Zepheera.

“Well, sorry to spoil your plans, but the Doctor isn’t yours to take.”

**“Oh! And I suppose he’s yours, is he? Cheeky little girl…”**

Zepheera allowed herself a smirk of her own as Jeremy drew ever closer. “Tell me…would a cheeky little girl do this?”

Reaching up with both hands, she tapped the inside of her ears, where high-tech earplugs were stuffed. “Now,” she ordered, the only sound that was able to reach the Winchesters’ ears.

The lights on the Impala flared up and Dean turned the stereo on high and activated the sonic blast Zepheera had set up. The Doctor had thrown the idea around days ago, but they’d lacked a sound system then. The blast was overwhelming to the human ear, so Zepheera provided the boys and herself with earplug pieces to block out most of the noise and to communicate with each other through it all.

It worked like a charm. Jeremy recoiled and slapped his hands over his ears, his human body completely stunned. Zepheera rushed forward, pulling the containment jar from one of the Doctor’s bigger-on-the-inside jacket pockets. Tucking it under her arm, she grasped the necklace with the Star in both hands and began to tug it over Jeremy’s head.

As she did, Jeremy—and only Jeremy—shrieked and fell to his knees. Startled, Zepheera followed his drop, never losing her grip on the necklace.

She frowned. _So that’s how it did it,_ she thought. Jeremy’s entire body was broken. The Star was the only thing keeping him whole.

She’d been afraid for a moment that Jeremy was too far gone, that he couldn’t be saved anymore. But when Jeremy’s reddened brown eyes opened to meet hers, they felt genuine and alone. Just that brief break in contact with the diamond had reset the control it had over Jeremy. He was free, for now.

Eyes boring into Zepheera’s, Jeremy lowered his hands from his bleeding ears and nodded desperately. He wanted her to take the diamond, no matter the cost to him. Zepheera brushed a hand reverently over his cheek in thanks before slipping the necklace over his head.

Jeremy Sunder collapsed in the grass, dead before he hit the ground.

Zepheera smoothly stood and was just about to unscrew the cap off the jar when the Star’s darkness consumed her. Outside of her control, she chucked the jar away from her as hard as she could. It bounced off the side of the Impala, leaving a sizeable dent as it rebounded into the neatly trimmed grass.

Then Zepheera reached into the other pocket on the Doctor’s jacket, pulling out Sam in a rough fist. He’d come along with her in case things went south with her handling the Star, and he’d been climbing his way to the top of the bigger-on-the-inside pocket when Zepheera grabbed him.

Luckily, they had anticipated this outcome as well. As soon as Dean saw Zepheera’s demeanor change, he was out the car door running to tackle her before the Wage Star could hurt his brother through her. He was careful but forceful as he restrained Zepheera, shoving her closer to the ground before wrenching her wrist around until she let go of Sam. The Wage Star fell from her hands next and Sam, seemingly unaffected by the space diamond, heaved up the diamond that was bigger than his torso and made a break for the jar in the grass.

Zepheera felt the darkness leave her in one fell swoop, and she had just enough time to wonder what had happened when Dean lifted her high and slammed her into the ground. One side of her face and the hands she’d shot out in attempt to catch herself were covered in scrapes from the concrete walkway. They’d just begun to heal and Zepheera’d just recovered from her daze when she was grabbed by the back of her hair and pulled to her feet. Dean’s knife was out in a second, swinging savagely with intent aim toward Zepheera’s throat. She managed to break free of his grip on her hair, pulling away in time to be saved from the mortal wound. She was still nicked on the side of her neck, a relatively shallow scratch that healed right away, much to Dean’s apparent fascination. He continued slicing at her, only occasionally getting a cut in—mostly on her hands or face. Then Dean waited as they healed before making the next cut.

Trudging through the grass while carrying a cumbersome diamond made of evil wasn’t the easiest of tasks, but Sam was making good time considering the terrain. He was already halfway there.

As though it sensed how close it was to captivity, the Wage Star switched Dean’s focus to Sam. He started toward his brother, but Zepheera was close enough to tackle him to the ground. Kicking the knife out of his hand, Zepheera continued to wrestle with Dean. Her drive to protect Sam from harm and Dean from the crippling guilt such violence against his brother would cause was strong enough to give her an adrenaline rush, but Dean was bigger than her. In spite of her best efforts, Dean kept maneuvering closer and closer to Sam until he could just about reach him if he stretched his arm far enough. The tremors of the wrestling giants so nearby knocked Sam off his feet, and he was knocked off his feet and the diamond fell from his grip.

…. _vwoorp…_

Everybody froze. They all knew that sound. They knew exactly what it heralded.

_Vwoorp…VWOORP…_

Zepheera recovered before anyone else, shoving a still-influenced Dean away from Sam and the jar, but within the circumference of the TARDIS slowly forming around them. His struggles with her began anew as the Wage Star became enraged at its imminent defeat. It would NOT lose, it would NOT!

As the grass around Sam disappeared, the path between him and the jar was much clearer. He lifted it again, hobbling over to the open jar as fast as he could before finally chucking it into the glass container.

Before he could even worry about what to do with the lid now that the TARDIS had fully materialized a hand dropped out of the sky and wrapped around the jar. An unfamiliar hand. Sam retreated far away from the hand as the other reached to the side and shoved the lid on pointedly, pressing a button on top to activate the field.

Dean’s struggles immediately ceased, and Zepheera let go of him. Her gaze was on the man with the Wage Star in a jar, who slowly stood and smiled that stupid smile at Zepheera.

“Did you miss me?” said the Doctor.

In answer, Zepheera jumped up and practically tackled the Doctor in a hug, which he returned with a jovial laugh.

“Oh, my Zepheera,” the Doctor sighed, pulling back to hold up the slightly glowing jar in front of her, “look at that! You are a star!”

“Yeah, maybe not your best choice of words there, Doctor,” she quipped, her voice tight with emotion.

The Doctor gave another laugh. “ _Well_ , what say we put an end to this once and for all?”

“Can’t go wrong with that!” Zepheera agreed.

With a smirk, the Doctor tossed Zepheera the jar and he started working the controls. That wheezing started up again, and the TARDIS began to disappear.

Up until then, Sam and Dean had been frozen in shock from the madness of the last three minutes alone. They snapped out of it when they realized the TARDIS was vanishing around them, leaving them behind in the lawn they’d been on before. Sam quickly ran up to Dean before he could be surrounded by grass again, hopping onto his brother’s waiting hand. Soon the noise of the TARDIS faded into the ether, and the boys were left on their own.

After taking a moment to gather himself, Dean got up, made an anonymous call to an ambulance to help Archie, and then left in his slightly dinged Impala with Sam, exhausted, resting on his shoulder.

Halfway back to the motel, Dean remembered where he left Sam’s bed.

 

The next morning, Sam woke up before Dean. He’d spent the night sleeping on his brother’s expansive chest, given the lack of other options. Dean had draped a hand over him loosely enough to provide warmth without smushing Sam into his ribs. Even though Sam was able to get up and go about his morning business, he stayed right where he was.

An hour passed, and Dean began to stir awake as well. “M’rning, Sammy,” he mumbled once he knew Sam was awake, ruffling his hair with a thumb. Sam batted the digit away, not daring to dignify that with a response.

Before either of them could make another move, an all-too-familiar noise broke through the morning quiet. The Winchesters were alert and ready as the sound of the TARIS materializing grew louder. Sam went to the nightstand to put on extra layers while Dean threw on a jacket, and the two of them hurried out of their motel room to find that same blue box in the parking spot next to the Impala. The door on Dean’s right was open, and the man from the night before was leaning in the threshold.

“Zepheera said you forgot this,” he said matter-of-factly, delicately lifting Sam’s small bed where Dean could see it. Dean took it with a nod of acknowledgement.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“She’s been working hard all week,” explained the Doctor with a shrug. “She’s getting some well-deserved rest in my opinion. She wanted to be here, to see you off, but it all sort of hit her like _that_ and she was out like a light. But she told me to say goodbye for her. Tell you how grateful she is to you both. And, personally, I would like to thank you, too, for watching out for her.”

Sam piped up from Dean’s shoulder. “Hey, um, Doctor? I have a question.”

The Doctor’s brow shot up and he crossed his arms in preparation. “Yeah, go on.”

“How the hell did you find us last night?”

“Oh!” the Doctor shrugged. “Woke up, no one was around, scanned for the Wage Star and found the one spot where all the activity was happening.”

“So, the Star’s taken care of now, right?”

The Doctor nodded. “Yup. Threw it into a supernova. Nice and clean. Shouldn’t be bothering anyone anytime soon. Anything else before I pop off?”

The brother’s shared a glance, and Dean asked the question that was on both their minds. “Who the hell _are_ you anyway?”

Rather than answering, the Doctor smiled fondly at them with a sigh. “Sam and Dean Winchester…You’re gonna be brilliant. Just remember that.” With that last enigmatic statement, the Doctor disappeared into his box and that terrifyingly beautiful sound faded in and out of existence just as the TARDIS did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Finished this story, yaaaay!  
> Real talk though.  
> Please excuse this last chapter and the last half of the third, I wrote them when I was very tired 'cause I was cramming to get these chapters up in time for the contest. This is not my best writing, this is sleep-deprived me trying to get my main story points out there.   
> I'll probably come back one of these days and HEAVILY edit, but for now...hope you enjoyed?


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